


Refugium

by rhiisu, yobas



Series: Voleurism [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Handsome Jack (Borderlands) Being an Asshole, Hurt Rhys, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Masturbation, Medical Trauma, Modern Era, Monster Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Mutual Masturbation, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Predator/Prey, Psychological Trauma, Roommates, Sex Toys, Somnophilia, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiisu/pseuds/rhiisu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yobas/pseuds/yobas
Summary: re·fu·gi·um/rəˈfyo͞ojēəm/nounan area in which a population of organisms can survive through a period of unfavorable conditionsWhen your means of nourishment came from devouring such emotions, you weren't going to gloss over anything. Jack picked up on it all, and his confidence in Rhys’s unknowing ability to provide for him hadn’t been proven wrong so far.





	1. Snake Eyed with a Sly Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Refugium is a collaborative work from the minds of yobas and twingods, chapters switching between Jack and Rhys’s POVs respectively. With that in mind, styles do vary between the authors. This piece is ongoing so be sure to bookmark so you don’t miss future chapters! Tags will be updated as the story progresses, but we already have plans for more explicit content. 
> 
> Please feel free to ask any questions lore-specific, or otherwise. If you’d rather ask in private, twitter (@rhysus_ for twingods/Amír and @khernips for yobas/Rhea) is the best way to go.
> 
> We value all comments and feedback greatly as it helps to not only encourage us as writers, but to give us ideas on how we may tailor our work to reflect the interest of our readers. Thank you so much – enjoy!

"See you later, Johnny boy."

Jack watches as the name tag disappears into the shredder, a gurgling of unpleasant noises spitting out of the machine as it tries to digest the rectangular piece of plastic. Over in seconds, it still feels like a glorious ceremony after dealing with being called 'John' for two entire weeks. His name was Jack – that's all he went by, ever. The second the damn tag had been handed over to him, he kicked up a fuss in demanding a new one, but the drone of his immediate superior's voice said he'd have to live with it for now. 

On day four, Jack had enough, and simply "forgot" the tag at home, only to be chewed out for not being in uniform. So ‘John’ returned on the fifth day, pissed off and all sorts of miserable to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught eyeing the vile piece of plastic fixed to his black shirt. That was the same day he nearly smashed the breakroom coffee pot. Who the hell even used coffee pots these days?

Day six, he brought the name tag in, completely mangled and bent out of place, claiming to his boss that there had been a small accident on the way home the night before. Flicking that damn ID tag into the road had been an almost spiritual experience, relieving a week's worth of frustrations in a second's time. No extravagant meal paid for by someone else or a night of passionate fucking would have improved his mood more swiftly. 

Going into work the following morning, Jack had felt like a new man. But much to his dismay, a fresh name tag was waiting for him on the loose interpretation of a desk he possessed at work. It was also sporting the wrong name. 

He suffered through the next week silently.

Walking back to his desk, Jack fixes the new, proper tag to his shirt, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. All things considered, the job wasn't bad. Perhaps it wasn't exactly what he had in mind; he hadn't dabbled around in IT work for a number of years now, but he wasn’t given much of a choice. The decision to leave his old occupation at Pandora Enterprises had been made for him by someone other than his boss.

Sometimes you just had to leave town. Killing someone was a surefire way to clear up any hesitancy revolving around the matter.

Jack had been raised under the mantra that when you find yourself in an unfortunate situation – when, not if – you had better be prepared to drop everything and slip into the shadows. Leave your life behind, bringing only the absolute essentials. Useless emotions like regret and memories laced with nostalgia were the heaviest things to carry, bound to get you into trouble if you were foolish enough to drag them along.

This new city, Promethea, was going to be better, proving to be a viable place to live for a number of years if Jack played his cards right. Triple the population of his old town, he'd be able to move around if problems arose, although the likelihood of any occurring was slim to none after what happened recently. His first major slip-up in his seventy odd years...? No, he'd certainly be more vigilant this time around. No growing careless and sloppy about feeding in the city.

Truth be told, he should've been in a more urban area from the start. The ability to remain anonymous among the crowds of people made the standard hoops he had to jump through far less daunting. Jack didn't need anything muddying up his life, he already had a special kind of challenge being a damn _voleur._

A race most often associated with the concept of vampires, there were two subtypes. Sangvoleurs, those who fed on blood in order to survive, destined to a somewhat extended lifespan when compared to humans. They were the most common type. 

Angovoleurs were the second and far more exclusive branch with a lifespan that was twice the average human's, without the messy need for blood consumption. Angovos, as they were more regularly called, fed off emotions, and only certain ones. Fear, despair… anything brought about through physical pain or stress were the typical candidates, and every angovo had their preferences much like a favorite meal.

Jack had won the genetic lottery. There was no doubting he'd be anything less than perfect just like his parents. After all, angovos could only be produced from two of the same, a pure lineage bred to live these extended lives of stealth and cunning when sized up to their blood-indulging counterparts. With no need for special hardware in the form of noticeably enlarged cuspids, flying under the radar was far simpler. A quiet life with endless potential was easily accomplished, assuming a few straightforward rules were followed.

Of course, Jack found himself in his current circumstances because he tried to find loopholes in said rules. As a consequence, he had to uproot his life and move away, forced to take a subpar job that made him literally...work. His previous employer had been good to him, allowing him to uphold one of those positions where everyone surrounding him questioned what it was he _actually_ did… Outside of course pulling pretty little young things into his private office, locking the door behind them; he never much minded _that_sort of work.

Taking up a job as an IT technician after years of essentially playing around instead of working, Jack wasn't too enthused. The work itself was fine, he enjoyed dabbling around with the manual side of things, he just wasn't fond of interacting with coworkers and the idiots more commonly referred to as his superiors. Ah well, he already had plans on how to move up the ladder. He’d find a way into a corner office at Hyperion sooner rather than later.

The housing situation though... That had been a thrilling project from the start.

Staying in a cheap motel on the edge of the city when he had first arrived, Jack took his time in seeking out potential roommates. Or rather, he went about answering ads other people were putting out, attending interviews to feel out the best candidate. He could afford his own place surely, something small at least. Money wasn't the issue. No, he was hunting for a source of food.

Work smarter not harder, right?

Why would he spend his days wandering from bar to bar in search of some depressed piece of shit or overworked soccer mom to feed from, when he could simply return home from work and get his fill? Enjoy a delicate snack of typical morning stress before even leaving the apartment. Frankly, how hard could it be to find a high-strung individual in need of a roommate while residing in a city with an outrageous cost of living? The concrete jungle certainly claimed more victims than Jack would ever need.

The task wasn't difficult at all – he was almost disappointed with how quickly he landed himself a new apartment. He hadn't even employed the use of pheromones to lure the sucker in, receiving a call back only a couple of days after the interview. Handed over some cash to contribute to the next set of bills coming up, signed a few papers, and moved in later that day. It wasn't the shortest commute to work, but Jack would gladly forgo easier transportation if it meant he wouldn't need to fuss over a source of food on the regular.

Rhys was cute too, resembling someone Jack would've gladly invited into his office back at Pandora. A fun little snack in every sense of the word, the kid was an absolute wreck. Stuck in some...data processing job or...? Yeah, something along those lines. His landlord had recently bumped up the rent or whatever. Jack wasn't entirely clear on the details because honestly he didn't exactly pay attention during their first encounter, more singularly focused on analyzing potential for an ongoing meal.

The stress wafting off of Rhys was absolutely perfect, as far as Jack was concerned. It was more than obvious this kid wasn't getting anywhere fast with his current work predicament, and the housing situation city-wide wasn't going to let up anytime soon. The young, twenty-something didn't strike Jack as the most social type either, not precisely one to relieve the stress of the work week at the corner bar on a Friday night with friends in tow.

Jack’s mouth was practically watering as they sat across from each other during the interview process alone. Rhys had come across as tightly wound. The slight strain to his voice as he asked question after question, posture stiff and a little on the awkward side. Jack almost felt sorry for the guy, tempted to throw some pheromones his way just to loosen the poor kid up a touch. It was obvious Rhys was trying to remain composed, presenting himself as though the whole ordeal wasn't adding to his already stressed-out life. As if he had all the time in the world to interview strangers to see which would be least dreadful to have walking through his living room.

But when your means of nourishment came from devouring such emotions, you weren't going to gloss over anything. Jack picked up on it all, and his confidence in Rhys’s unknowing ability to provide for him hadn’t been proven wrong so far. Only a week into their cohabitation and his new roommate was curbing those after work hunger pains flawlessly. Jack was being reserved, of course, he didn’t want to suck the poor kid dry, not to mention that angovoleur feeding _did_come with a drawback for the prey. Not that he cared so long as it wouldn’t become an inconvenience.

For Jack, everything was coming up roses. Glancing over the notes he had written down earlier, it’s a relief to see he wouldn’t be dealing with any one-on-ones today. He leans back at his desk, adjusting the glasses perched at the bridge of his nose. Simple software updates, then mess around with the CPU no one else had managed to get up and running yet. Perhaps he’d go out later if he wasn’t too hungry.

Straightforward tasks at work, settling into the new apartment nicely, a delectable source of food locked down for the foreseeable future… The week was shaping up to be perfect – how could it possibly improve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Go enjoy the next chapter right away; Amír’s writing is absolutely lovely.
> 
> If you have any questions I’d be happy to answer, although you might have to wait for some details related to the lore ;) I’ll see y’all in chapter three!


	2. Devil's Own Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys was surprised when the poised character showed up not more than two hours later, cash in hand, a smile on his face that crooned perfection in actually every way; the shade of his teeth, the subtle curve of his lips, right down to the very alignment of his jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Amír here! Thanks for checking out our collaboration – we've been so excited to share with everyone. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last. Without further ado, I present to you Devil's Own Luck, chapter two of Refugium.

There was hardly an event that could make this past week more terrible than it already was.

That being said, perhaps he shouldn't test fate.

It all started Monday morning when Rhys's phone rang at work; he was staring pensively at his loading computer screen, the words 'Atlas Solutions' appearing in italics, while he perched on his well-abused upholstered chair, hidden behind three-and-a-half beige walls. He didn't _dread_ it, per se, but there was a small part of him that told him he certainly should as he listened to the voicemail at lunch, a slightly altered version of his landlord's voice coming from the minuscule speaker in the phone cradled in his hand. It was weird of that man to ask Rhys to call him back when he had a chance, instead of just telling him in the message what he wanted, but – well, Rhys had more pressing matters than that at work. He would have to call later.

When lunch was over, the message from his landlord fell from the back of Rhys's mind, stumbling into a pile of other semi-important information that he wanted to store until he could properly use it. Like a pile of dirty socks that had not been acknowledged in a week, scraps of thought processes didn't quite mature into fine wine, but it was well intentioned. There wasn't any organization, and that meant that Rhys was almost certain to forget a date or two, miss an occasional meeting, but overall, he worked hard and was devoted to being the most reliable person he could be. Perhaps he should've thought his hard work was all so he could play hard.

That was, if playing hard meant forking over nearly every damn cent he earned to the U.S. government in dues and taxes with every pay cheque.

For working so hard, Rhys wasn't nearly compensated fairly. He was an earnest worker, and when he miraculously remembered to call his landlord back after work and found out that the price of his flat was going up effective next month, he was devastated. First thing on Tuesday morning, he sought out his immediate superior, but—ah, that was hopeless. Rhys knew before he asked that he wasn't getting a raise, even if he promised higher, time saving numbers. In fact, it gave his supervisor an opportunity to tell him all the reasons he _wasn't_ getting a raise.

Great.

Being the heinously _generous_ man he was, Rhys's landlord told him that he could think things over and get back to him with an answer. Would he cancel the contractless agreement they had and move out? It was difficult to find housing where he lived, even more so during this time of year—it'd be damn near impossible to find a promising place before he had to decide. Then, the other option… Would he stay? Could he come up with the money consistently, provide for himself monthly?

… yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen.

It wasn't a full week later that Rhys was arranging meetings with a couple people who responded to an action paper advertisement he had printed about seeking out a roommate. At first, it was alright. There were a few promising guys, even a few women that inquired, but Rhys gently let them down before they got attached to the idea that the apartment would be available to them, knowing full well he wouldn't be comfortable sharing his apartment with a woman.

After a handful of makeshift "interviews," Rhys realized that, much to his chagrin, everyone thought guidelines were directed at everyone but themselves. Two men, older than what Rhys was comfortable with, showed up to meet him, and despite knowing they wouldn't fit and going through with the questions he had written up ahead of time, Rhys quickly crossed them out mentally as possible candidates. Another fellow was so different from him, personality and demeanor, that Rhys couldn't imagine them anywhere near each other long term, no matter how hard he tried. He truly was a nice guy, but Rhys wanted a solution that would stick and stay, not one he had to replace two or three times before he had any luck.

After the last goofball, Rhys met with a gentleman that was extremely charismatic, the magnetic pull on him substantial, but when he found out the man's age, he found himself uncomfortable. Too close in age to his own father. Nope. Unfortunate.

A couple others seemed unreliable, or just downright sketchy, and Rhys was about to completely lose hope when he met Phil.

Phil was as close to perfect as perfect could be, honestly. He was close in Rhys's age, worked in a somewhat similar setting, and his schedule was one that matched Rhys's in such a way that made it so they were unlikely to ever be bothering each other during waking hours. The deal was all but sealed – it was a couple days before the deadline, they'd agreed to terms, and Phil was going to drop off his portion of the down payment – when Rhys received a harrowing text.

If any sort of higher being was watching over him now, Rhys wanted to make a formal fucking complaint about how terrible of a job they were doing.

It wasn't anything he _wanted_ to do; no, not at all. Once more, terribly bad luck had forced his hand and made a disgruntled decision for him.

Contacting the next best candidate, Rhys was surprised when the poised character showed up not more than two hours later, cash in hand, a smile on his face that crooned perfection in _actually_ every way; the shade of his teeth, the subtle curve of his lips, right down to the very alignment of his jaw.

Jack Laurent wasn't his first choice, but he _was_ the choice that came through with the money when Rhys needed him to, and that was what mattered right now, seeing as it kept him from becoming homeless.

There were multiple problems with the guy though, and Rhys couldn't ignore them.

First, he was just _too_ fucking attractive. Not like, in a way that made Rhys want to take him out for drinks in a suggestively furnished lounge, one that kept an exceptional air of eroticism about it. No. He wanted to trust him, to give in to him, to sink into the bed beneath one of those muscular arms, pressed firmly against his chest until he couldn't breathe—

Ugh.

Rhys – someone who wasn't one to commonly violate even the most irresistible body shapes of attractive people with a leering glance – could not so much as look away from Jack every time he had seen him thus far, and it was enough to drive him mad with unbound frustration. He couldn't even say _what it was_ that made him want to flock to the older man, but without a doubt, there was a magnetic pull that kept him interested in basking in the light of Jack's attention, even if in actuality, only a portion of it was spared for him.

It would go away. It was just a fascination with someone who was different than him—this happened to other people in similar situations. Perhaps even Jack felt the same way Rhys felt? It would explain why every time Rhys looked at Jack, his breathtakingly clear eyes were on him, studying him, sending a shudder up his spine.

But that didn't explain the feeling of being stalked. It didn't explain the occasional, feverish desire to flee. Nor the fleeting sensation of unsolicited anxiety that washed through him.

_Human brains are so easily mistaken,_ Rhys thought with a soft chuckle beneath his breath, pressing the call button next to his landlord's name. _Hah… evolution has a long way to go._

≡

It was a terrible habit of his, one he had not broken even after settling into his apartment years ago and growing accustomed to adulthood. Rhys knew that it was suggested by every doctor, every dietitian, every _whatever_ that to be as healthy as one could be, they should indulge in a well-balanced breakfast every morning. Giving your body the proper nutrients to kick start the day is the best possible choice you can make for yourself and your health, they said. 

Not that it wasn't _true_. Rhys just couldn't give a damn at five thirty in the morning.

Unfortunately, though, one of the first pieces of information he found out about his new roommate was that he was one of _those_people. The ones that could give a damn about breakfast. Oh, how he wished this wasn't one of the preliminary facts he learned – or any of the facts – but he knew he had enough to be thankful for when he woke up to the soft clatter of a plate in the kitchen.

The keyword here being soft.

It took Rhys some time, but after checking the time on his phone and deciding it wasn't too early to get up for a shower, he slunk out of bed, yawning wide while he slowly stretched over his mop of messy bed head. The nearly indistinguishable sounds in the kitchen paused, then continued, like a gentle soundtrack to Rhys's morning.

Content with this, he added the sound of his bare feet entering and patting across the tiled bathroom floor, eyes closed as he tried to grow accustomed to the sensation of being conscious once more. With a grunt, Rhys slid his hand across the wall – finding the corner of the shower somehow despite his lack of sight – and turned the water on, drowning out the sound of his new roommate.

Breakfast or not, stranger in his home, a stringent need to piss, work, whatever, _whatever_—Rhys needed his morning showers.

Besides, going without breakfast couldn't _possibly_ make this past week any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I appreciate feedback very much. 
> 
> If you'd like to stay updated on the process of my personal chapters, follow me on Twitter over at @rhysus_. Likewise, if you want to do so for Rhea's chapters, follow them at @khernips. 
> 
> Please continue to enjoy our story!


	3. Brand of Miseries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shitty day, huh, kiddo?” Jack starts off famously, folding and tucking away his glasses as he steps into the living room, a faint shiver running down his spine as he detects the flicker of irritation coming from Rhys. The kid really didn’t like being called that – whoops. Foreplay was more fun with a bit of anger spliced in with the rest. Maybe he’d just call him ‘princess’ next and see what kind of reaction that would provoke.

Angovos didn’t _ need _ to eat regular food, but Jack still enjoyed that little ritual when it wasn’t proving to be an inconvenience. Besides, it was important for keeping up appearances that he was just like everyone else. Getting up early enough to whip something up in the kitchen was an easy enough way to start off the day, maybe listen to some music or a podcast during the process. He’d never consider himself a morning person, but it wasn’t the worst part of the day for certain.

Breakfast. Most important meal of the day. Eat healthy, have a balanced variety of foods, exercise moderation, all that bullshit. Emphasis on the ‘bullshit’ part ever since this cohabitation thing kicked off though. Jack was focusing on one source for his energy these days.

From the moment Rhys woke up, it was like smelling fresh bacon and pancakes wafting through the apartment. Didn’t the kid have a single moment of peace? Did he start off every morning kick-starting the stress center of his brain by opening up the world news or something? Not that Jack was complaining about whatever it was that got the poor guy worked up on a regular basis. He didn’t need the details, he just needed to know something – anything – was plaguing his roommate.

Jack’s already had a cup of coffee this morning, and feeling particularly peckish, he purposefully left the keurig’s reservoir empty of water. As if he’d _ ever _bother to fill it if he wasn’t about to make himself another cup. He sits at the tiny kitchen table, a tablet in one hand as he reads over the morning news while finishing up the rest of his simple breakfast.

A door closes down the hall, signaling Jack that his roommate was on his way. Flicking to the next article he was interested in glancing over, he briefly looks up, knowing Rhys could see him from where he was walking down the short hallway. Another purposeful choice, naturally. Peering just over his glasses, he taps his tattooed wrist as if an invisible watch resided there, calling out, “C’mon Rhysie, you’re running late today.” He wasn’t, but the resulting pout from the younger man is satisfying. He might have even quickened his pace slightly.

Although he’s already looked back down to the illuminated tablet in front of him, Jack’s not quite done tormenting his roommate, waiting until Rhys steps into the room officially before starting up again. “So what’s it gonna be today? Got a meeting? Hot coffee to schlep around? Hope you don’t have to redo that project you were telling me about last week. Sounded reaaal fun the first time around.”

It’s blatantly obvious Rhys wants to be left alone, just like every other morning before work. To his credit, Jack held his tongue some days, saving the teasing and poking and prodding until they both returned home in the evenings. But again, today he was _ hungry _.

Straightening out his back, Jack doesn’t feel it’s necessary to hold back any longer. Rhys would be out the door in a few short minutes, after all.

Angovoleur feeding was far less dramatic than their blood-tasting counterparts, so subtle that their prey didn’t detect a thing. Hard to describe, but for the feeders it was best put as enjoying something...thrilling, not unlike the satisfaction adrenaline junkies received from performing their risk of choice. A little more subdued though, perhaps more similar to the feeling of reading a thought provoking book, or sitting engrossed in an action movie at the local theater. Enjoying a cup of espresso after a fine meal.

The experience for the prey itself was a different matter entirely, the aftermath a drain on their energy and overall mood. Some people experienced fatigue, while others suffered through an exacerbation of their already poor mindset. It varies for everyone, similar to how angovos themselves were drawn to their own particular brand of miseries.

Jack simply enjoyed feasting on stress.

His roommate’s stress, nowadays. Watching the younger man travel around the kitchen as he gathered together a cup of coffee, Jack clicks off his tablet, arms crossing over his chest in silent amusement. Feeling that hunger beginning to dissipate, he feels greedy for more. “You know, those things in the freezer you’ve been eating as ‘meals’... those aren’t –” Jack cuts himself off there, shifting in the seat to start making all sorts of vague hand gestures, “ – exactly low in sodium. Why don’t you do some cooking after work? This kitchen’s not half bad. Eat some frickin’ breakfast too, you’re not going to keep those looks going on tv dinners and coffee. I’ll make you something if you’re not alive enough to toast a slice of bread.”

Rhys, leaning against the sink, looks absolutely dazed, cup of coffee now in hand. Still pouting even as he lifts the mug to his lips for another sip. “I like my coffee.” There’s a forced pause, perhaps to diffuse any chance of an argument starting so early in the morning. “...and my dinners. I’m tired after work, I don’t like cooking, and– ...I-I don’t even know why I’m justifying myself, I can eat what I want. I’m an adult.”

During the ramble of a run-on sentence, Jack had stood up, setting his dishes into the sink. Not the small dishwasher, no, he was becoming an expert in finding all the little ways he could produce minor amounts of stress around the apartment. Snatching his tablet off the table, he passes in front of Rhys, leaning in to teasingly tap a curled knuckle against his jaw. “Loosen up, kiddo, the day’s just beginning.”

≡

Friday evening rolls around, and Jack can tell it’s going to be a rough one. His week had been fantastic, no, it was nothing on his end that was cause for alarm. But every morning, Rhys was stressed, and every evening he was worse off it seemed. Which was a good thing for Jack, of course, this is exactly what he had sought out during the roommate search.

However...he didn’t need to eat _ that _ much. It was hard to resist though, his self-control wasn’t phenomenal and seeing Rhys sigh quietly as he paced around the apartment… how could Jack not take advantage of that display?

Overindulging on his feeding wouldn’t make him feel full or bloated like it might for a regular human. It was a surplus of energy for angovos, and each one handled it differently. Now Jack? He had always taken that excess energy and channeled it into his hands, so to speak, if a hand wrapped around a leaking cock counted in such a manner.

His back leaning against the kitchen sink, a bottle of beer in one hand, Jack removes his glasses with a quiet groan. Rhys was moving about the small living room they shared, and whatever had happened at work must have been brutal. Or perhaps there was an incident on the way back from the office. Whatever it was had the younger man tense still an hour after he had returned home. He hadn’t said a word about it so far, and Jack knows he shouldn’t press the matter. Not now, not when the whole display has him feeling tempted to rub one out in the kitchen without giving a serious fuck if his roommate saw.

“Shitty day, huh, kiddo?” Jack starts off famously, folding and tucking away his glasses as he steps into the living room, a faint shiver running down his spine as he detects the flicker of irritation coming from Rhys. The kid really didn’t like being called that – whoops. Foreplay was more fun with a bit of anger spliced in with the rest. Maybe he’d just call him ‘princess’ next and see what kind of reaction that would provoke.

He doesn’t expect to receive an answer as he collapses onto the couch, forced to sit rather close to Rhys due to the size of the damn thing. Wasn’t his fault the younger man didn’t have anything else to sit on, he should be thankful Jack hadn’t selected his lap for lounging accommodations instead. Normally he’d consider springing for at least a separate chair, but this wasn’t the first time Jack had employed this tactic of getting under his roommate’s skin.

There’s another prickling of frustration coming from Rhys, but Jack literally had nowhere else to move even if he wanted to (he didn’t) and he wasn’t about to lean against the wall after a hard day’s work (not that he had done much of anything). So fully leaning into the close quarters situation, he eases back into the plush cushions as he props his feet up on the coffee table, throwing an arm along the back of the couch. Behind Rhys’s head, but again, there were only so many options he could consider. “C’mon, tell me about it. Not good to keep it all bottled up inside, you’ll blow a gasket or short circuit or whatever.”

Rhys shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the closeness, although not enough to fully get up or verbally address it apparently. With a heavy sigh, he admits, “I had to redo another project. Small one but it’s fucking annoying either way.” Allowing for a brief pause, he leans forward to fetch his own drink off the table, taking a quick swig before continuing. “Then, my department manager...”

Jack’s mostly checked out already. Not needing the particulars, he further relaxes into the couch and soaks up all the stress coming from his roommate. It’s incredibly satisfying, the energy flowing into him like a steady, low bass. Thrumming, a deep pulsing sensation that settles heavy into his bones. The more time that passes, the more worked up he feels. A kind of lazy arousal that has him enjoying the distant tone of Rhys’s voice as if considering what it’d sound like moaning his name.

Realizing he’s taking in too much energy, Jack dials it back for a split second, knowing that it’ll have to translate to some sort of release tonight. There’s no way he could let this go now, not unless he wanted to drive himself up a wall. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time since he moved in either and it had only been...what? Three weeks now? He really needed to find a playmate to work off his urges. Indulging in fantasies about his roommate wasn’t something he could keep up in the long term.

Not the time to think about that though, he could treat himself a _ little _ more… just a few more minutes. He nurses the beer still in hand, tilting his head back with eyes closed as he continues to drink up the stressed energy Rhys is giving off. What a generous roommate, feeding Jack and encouraging _ other _ needs. A tease. Getting him so worked up he’d have to retire to his bedroom to touch himself or fuck one of those cute little fleshlight toys he had bought himself last year. As if either option was a fulfilling alternative to the real deal.

Ugh. He wonders if Rhys had ever used one of those things, those fleshlights. Probably not. Jack muses over the thought of giving the kid one for his birthday, it’d surely draw all sorts of awkward and delicious tension out from the younger man. Unfortunately, he sincerely doubts their relationship would ever be the type to involve masturbating in front of one another. Still, it’s an amusing fantasy to entertain. Even if Rhys was reluctant to do it himself, Jack would gladly show off his own toys. Cause a scene, make it known how aroused he –

“...Jack?”

The angovo’s daydreams come to a screeching halt as he’s brought back to reality. Fully aware of the growing erection beneath the increasingly uncomfortable folds of his jeans, he hums nonchalantly, “Yeah, that sucks. Hm… Drink’s making me tired.” It’s not quite an apology but it’ll cover for his divided attention well enough. “Not looking too lively yourself, Rhysie.” Of course he wasn’t after Jack had been feeding for the last ten minutes or however long it had been.

Arm pulling away from the back of the couch, Jack slides to sit at the edge, finally finishing off his beer. He stands up, decidedly careful about how he moves considering the tension residing in his gut. Going to his room feels...necessary, now, no longer an optional matter. Flashing a quick glance at Rhys as he crosses into the kitchen, Jack can’t help but imagine how easy it would be to get him flustered. It was more than obvious simply sitting too close to his roommate pulled a reaction out of him, Jack was confident he could have him melting in his grasp if he tried.

Not tonight though. Possibly not ever.

Slipping into the darkness of his bedroom, Jack’s already undoing his belt buckle as he closes the door behind him. There’s an immediate relief, building pressure fading away while he settles into bed, the nagging ache of his cock starting to quiet down as a broad hand wraps around the length. The energy he had just feasted on still lingers, soft murmurs echoing through his system as he slowly begins stroking himself.

No sense in entertaining thoughts of his attractive roommate falling to pieces under his touch. It was one thing to muse over such fantasies while lounging around, but now? Hardened cock in hand… no. Jack had learned the lesson in his old town about how getting too involved with prey could lead down dangerous roads. Cursing the thoughts away, he tries to summon something else, other images he could pleasure himself to in lieu of anything involving Rhys. He couldn’t risk having more blood on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is literally the worst roommate to have but at least he offers to make meals I suppose? Also...uh. Who wants to be the one to tell him it’s not kosher to pop boners in the common spaces while your roommate vents about his shitty day. 
> 
> Thanks for reading y’all! Hope you enjoyed that ending ;) Amír’s chapter should be up in a few days, I know he’s been working hard on it!


	4. Peace In Your Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you have a personal project or something to do? Instead of…" Vague hand gestures between the two of their bodies. "...this."
> 
> Jack seemed like he was waiting for something, and it was only making Rhys's anxiety bloom like a sickeningly sweet flower, pathetically drooping in his chest.
> 
> "Oh, I already took care of that, cupcake, don't you worry your pretty little head about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This upload was super late, considering the chapter has been done for a while now. My apologies! I hope it was worth the wait.

Agony and smog and _insufferable_, scorching heat engulfed him, biting at every exposed nerve ending until tears welled up at the edges of his vision; the shadows of his violently evolving misery had built a kingdom for him, but no longer was he welcome. He could see the bemused billows of soot gambol in the quivering image of a broken boy, a mystic depth beneath that he could not begin to fathom with all the wisdom humankind could possibly offer to him. The image heaved and surged like a frantic gazelle, fleeing the domineering fangs of a lion who had spent one too many days hungry.

And then—silence. Silence in the way that meant no movement, no colors, no sight. It was black, so black, he thought he was dead. It had taken it's sweet time to arrive, enveloping him like a frigid ice bath would, sinking it's spindly claws deeper and deeper, stealing his warmth. But it hadn't come for him – no, not yet, it wasn't his time yet – but the drowning sensation on every inch of his skin persisted like a plague. And then, the symphony of the ink-laden night sky erupted above, as quiet as a mouse, like fireworks that had waited centuries for their chance to be born again.

"... Rhys."

A voice murmured his name, and it was _ familiar_. It was terrifyingly familiar. Again and again, his name echoed in his ears, warping and distorting like heated metal until it was a cacophony of uproarious cackling, the sneering faces all but materializing before his quivering form. The assaulting discord was getting louder, like an eerie warning, one that told him he was destined to be afraid. Terror should be making him flee, self-preservation in a pathetically human attempt to survive. But in his fear, he froze, eyes impossibly wide despite the pain jolting to meet in an arc over his shimmering left oculus—intense enough to make his chest tighten in a strangled scream as his hands frantically searched for the source of his agony. As the sensation grew, so did Rhys's hollow cries of misery, nails digging into his flesh as he desperately tried to escape the pain.

Strips of tattered flesh began to peel away along the strikes of his fingers, sticking to his palms with the dampness of his blood and tears before falling away, another howl punctuating the excruciating stab of pain that continued to radiate from his eye.

“—Rhys!”

“Gh–! W-wha–?... Hha...” Shoving away with his free hand the threat he was certain was drawing near, Rhys kept his crooked fingers curled over his eye socket, confused when the slick sensation of his blood seemed to disappear without explanation. In fact, the heat he felt dissipating off his injured flesh seemed to cool in an instant; even so, he remained confident he could somehow keep himself safe if he just didn’t move, didn’t allow the cradling grasp of his hand to leave his face. If he could just shield himself from that pain for a moment longer...

Sudden light swiftly swept away the cover of darkness like a flurry of powerful, pristine wings, and Rhys groaned, blinking his uncovered eye open to just a slit, pupil constricted beneath a row of full lashes. A distorted image of Jack came into view, further perplexing him. Where was he?

"What… mmh," Rhys didn't immediately let his hand fall away, but when he was sure that nothing was on the verge of lunging toward him, his fingers twitched, slipping down his cheek to reveal an undamaged eye, despite what he felt moments ago.

Well… _ relatively _ undamaged.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Jack crooned in a steady voice, one that clearly desired a reaction; it was difficult not to deliver. His gaze was persistent, piercing, penetrating—enough that Rhys felt increasing pressure to shrink away from those mismatched eyes. "I coulda swore I heard something like an injured puppy in here, so I decided to investigate. Good thing I did, huh? You were practically _ pissing _ yourself." Rhys silently questioned whether it was truly concern coming from Jack, as the intensity in his eyes led him down some other, more questionable avenues. Regardless, Rhys gingerly closed his left eye, feeling as if his roommate could see right through him. The unfocused image of Jack sneering above the assumed safety of his warm bed refused to allow him a moment of peace.

There was a flicker of curiosity when Rhys realized that Jack was severely lacking in the number of pet names he peppered in his language. Was that because of the scenario, or did another tune add to that melody?

Ugh, it didn't _ matter. _Why was Rhys even thinking about something so irrelevant?

"I'm– I'm _ fine_," Rhys muttered, spitting the final word out with some sort of dismissive aura. When Jack didn't immediately leave – likely because there was hardly a moment given to him to respond – Rhys engaged in an attempt to sit up, trying to toss his weight enough that he'd be able to prop himself up on his pillows. Much to his chagrin, he fell back against the bed, elbow digging into the plush. "I'll be out in a few minutes–..."

_ Geez, leave me alone. _

Feeling his misery continue to swell in his chest, alongside some other weighty sensation, Rhys shot a less-than-friendly look in Jack's direction.

Obviously taking the hint, Jack chuckled, slowly retreating from his claimed position on the edge of the bed. "Alright, alright kiddo. No need to get hostile." A grin split his face, forcing Rhys to stare up at the jagged line of Jack's teeth.

_ What the fuck is up with your teeth, anyway? _

"I'll have breakfast ready for you, so don't take too long."

When the door closed behind Jack, Rhys had to resist the urge to howl in terrible frustration. His red hot lack of appreciation for his roommate dissipated quickly though, as his anger sizzled into little more than embarrassment, leaving him with a shell of the energy he had moments ago. What a joke… Rhys opened his eyes again, sighing when his limited sight didn't change.

This was his reality, of course. How could he even feign forgetfulness?

The room was quiet, the occasional sounds from the kitchen keeping Rhys in the moment. Despite feeling incredibly groggy due to being yanked out of a dream, he was thankful Jack had done so. He wasn't sure how much longer he could endure the terrifying dimension he was trapped in. He probably looked like a downright fool in that state, perhaps whimpering in his desperation to escape. But, then that meant...

The realization that such a vulnerability was given up to a man he barely knew – what the hell was his last name again? Lawrence? – made Rhys's cheeks flood with color, his pale complexion taking on a rosy dusting. How embarrassing. The offending hand curled tighter against his warm cheek, cradling his shame as his other hand drifted up to join it. Rethinking it, it was no wonder Jack had fled so quickly after Rhys woke up; he probably was satisfied with the fact he had finally gotten Rhys to shut up, and was eager to go about his morning routine.

_ Even if he's _ just _ my roommate, _ Rhys growled to himself, wryly ignoring the fact that a minuscule spark of excitement was leaping up and down his spine now, _ it's absolutely humiliating. _

It was hardly even a passing thought that the bed beside him could be warm for any reason other than his _ own _ body heat. 

≡

Breakfast rolls on past as uneventful as it should. Jack had fried an egg and dropped it next to some toast, light golden in color, and left it in the microwave for his roommate, keeping the heat from escaping too rapidly. A cup of coffee later, with the simple yet satisfying food settling in his stomach, Rhys sat alone at the wooden table in the kitchen, scrolling through the most recent news articles on his favorite website. Jack had gone… somewhere, mumbling about how he had to finish some personal project up quickly, but Rhys wasn't truly listening when the older man tried to string together a resemblance of a sentence. Instead, he'd nodded along, responding blandly while he looked anywhere but at Jack's face. He didn't want to stare into those eyes again, the ones that found him a crumbling, writhing mess in the privacy of his own bedroom.

It was hard to decide if he should be pissed off, flattered because Jack supposedly cared enough to check on him, or if he should continue with drowning in his self-fueled embarrassment that never quite seemed to leave the inner workings of his body. 

Rhys curled his fingers tighter around the mug in his hand, a dark liquid vibrating beneath the energy he expelled. Decaffeinated coffee, every day after his one and only caffeinated cup. Rhys was terribly sensitive to the drug and had to cut out almost all caffeine for his health years ago. He was an enthusiastic fan of whoever invented decaf, though, as it meant he could continue drinking his morning lifeblood without risking a possible heart attack. Unfortunately for him, he'd had more than one occurrence where friends or coworkers thought it'd be a fun time to swap out the two very distinct kinds of coffee without notifying Rhys, and every time – _ every time _– it ended up with him getting ill somehow.

Engrossed in the messy palace that was his mind, Rhys didn't notice when Jack entered the kitchen again, having apparently showered and shaved. There was a slight scent that wafted into the room alongside Jack, tipping Rhys off that he was no longer alone much before he'd tell from audible cues—Jack was completely silent unless he wanted his presence to be known.

"How was your shower?" He mused, not sounding particularly interested. He'd certainly be lying though if he tried to claim he never thought of what happened behind the bathroom door when Jack left for a shower. Rhys tried to keep those thoughts to a minimum, though, as he already had trouble enough finding Jack as a roommate… he didn't want to be forced to find another because untamed intimacies burned the fragile bridges between them.

There was a hum that came from behind him, more akin to a purr than anything else really, and Rhys was startled into turning around, realizing how close Jack was to him. _ Holy sh— _

Jack looked _ good_. Better than good. Rhys felt his chest tighten and his breath hitch, his eyes uncomfortably close to the dissimilar ones belonging to the other. He looked fucking _ delicious_. Rhys hated the fact he thought that, but he couldn't ignore the tightness elsewhere in his body.

"G-glad it was good," Rhys laughed awkwardly, leaning away from Jack and turning back toward the table he was sitting at yet. "I'll wait a while before taking one myself. Y-you know, so there's plenty of hot water."

_ Definitely not because I can't ignore this image of you in the same shower as me. A-absolutely not. _

Jack was silent for a minute longer before he shifted so his expression was in Rhys's line of sight. It was unreadable, causing a jolt of anxiety – and miserably, forbidden excitement – to dart through his body. This was becoming a regular event in his apartment, truthfully. Jack was infuriatingly difficult to read sometimes, leaving Rhys confused at best.

"Rhysie—," Jack crooned, a wicked grin crawling across his angular features, stirring irritation in Rhys once again. "Is something bothering you? I'm a very good listener—you should know this by now, hm?"

Rhys hesitated, the hand holding his mug falling to his lap so his fingers could prod and pull at each other in his blooming embarrassment. "What do you mean, 'bothering me'? Nothing is bugging me, I'm just enjoying my cof—,"

Being cut off with a skeptical "mhmm" made Rhys's cheeks flush, but he held his ground, looking up and locking his gaze with Jack's.

"Don't you have a personal project or something to do? Instead of…" Vague hand gestures between the two of their bodies. "...this."

Jack seemed like he was waiting for something, and it was only making Rhys's anxiety bloom like a sickeningly sweet flower, pathetically drooping in his chest.

"Oh, I already took care of that, cupcake, don't you worry your pretty little head about that."

Rhys rolled his eyes, breaking contact for the sake of his sanity. If this tension lasted any longer, he felt as if he would explode. If Jack calling him all the disturbing pet names in the world meant he would leave and let the air clear, then Rhys would endure.

Unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel the fire.

"But enough about me…" The energy in the air seemed to shift, making Rhys all but shudder in his chair, forcing his gaze to remain on the table even as Jack slowly sunk down to sit across from him. "... What are you planning for this weekend?" It wasn't until a finger pulled his head up by the chin that Rhys made eye contact again, seeing a warmth in Jack's eyes that he didn't recall seeing before.

Rhys was a trapped bird at this point, fluttering fruitlessly against the metallic bonds that kept him in the caged locale that was Jack's attention. He knew if he tried too hard to flee, became too frantic to escape, he would only harm himself in the process, and so he willed himself to remain as calm as possible under the scrutinizing leer of Jack fucking Laurent.

About to give some sort of pathetic excuse for an answer, Rhys is cut off, hearing the low roll of Jack's voice instead of his own. "Since you don't seem to have plans, why don't you and I go out and do something? That's what roommates do, isn't it?" The question felt like more of a statement than what the influx of tone suggested it was, but Rhys nodded dumbly, blinking away the fact he definitely just agreed to hang out with a man his father's age. 

_ Well, shit. _

"Finish up your coffee first, Rhysie." Jack reached out in a split second, brushing a knuckle softly against Rhys's cheek as if an eyelash was a stowaway for far too long. "As for what we do… your choice, darlin', I can't choose everything for you."

Rhys interlocked his fingers together in his lap with a gulp that damn near sounded out in the middle of the small, well-kept room. At least the sexual tension seemed to have left in favor of a more innocently flirty one.

"Uh– h-how about… a movie? Here?"

Rhys lifted his phone, clutching it as if he was afraid it would leap from his hands. He gave Jack a once over with his eyes, trying to decipher the response he was afraid he'd be given.

"I've got a Streamers on-demand account."

Jack grinned, his broad fingers curling against his jaw as he leaned into the palm of his hand.

"Sounds great."


	5. Inflicting Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kiddo, what did I say?” Jack moves the hand from Rhys’s leg to the underside of his chin, guiding the younger man to turn his head and look at him. Jack’s sure to widen his smile, rubbing a curled finger against his cheek before returning it to his thigh once more. “See, Rhysie? No need to be scared.”

The suggestion to watch a movie might have been Rhys’s idea, but in the end, Jack was the one to make the specific selection since the kid seemed too indecisive beyond the broadest of choices. Whatever – Jack wasn’t going to complain, not truly giving a rat’s ass what they did, any activity allowing the energy vampire to enjoy himself quite easily. Still living up to his ideals of life with simple, practically spoon-fed feedings however, Jack chooses a movie he felt would play to his benefit.

“Shit–” Rhys jumped, the bowl of popcorn making a small fluttering noise as its content jumped slightly when he had flinched. 

Jack kept an eye on his clearly tense roommate at his side, a typical slasher film blasting from the television in front of their shared couch. Only twenty minutes into the movie and the younger man had jumped multiple times, each scare seeming to affect him more than the previous one. It had been amusing so far, perhaps entertaining Jack a little more than was decent to admit. He had laughed at a few of the scares, cheap horror movie tactics to sucker in people just like Rhys. But he himself wasn’t bothered much by the cliché theatrics, taking up his usual place on the couch with an arm thrown across the back as always to further amplify the tension in the room.

The necessity to feed right now was almost nonexistent, Jack had grimly realized as the pair of them had settled onto the sofa. Disappointing, really, consuming his focus for the first ten minutes of the movie while he went back and forth on whether he should push his luck tonight. He shouldn’t – that was the strikingly obvious answer, but he_ wanted_ _to_, and so badly at that. How could he allow such an opportunity to pass? He couldn’t predict when he’d find himself such a delicious chance to prey on a so blatantly vulnerable Rhys again.

There’s already excitement building up though, knowing full well he’s going to do what he shouldn’t: see exactly how far he could push his roommate. 

Emitting pheromones had been effective on Rhys so far, although Jack hadn’t employed the use of them to any great extent. But tonight… it’d be foolish to try anything without their influence backing him up, turning his roommate into a crumbling mess on the couch for him to play with. He didn’t doubt the lengths his charisma could carry him, but he also wasn’t about to risk jeopardizing the cozy situation that was his living arrangements.

Rhys gasps in reaction to the movie again, and Jack smiles. Lowers the arm outstretched behind the kid until it’s all but curling around his frame. He leans over just a touch, sighing as softly as he can pull off. “...you okay there, pumpkin?”

There isn’t a verbal reply from Rhys but he scoots closer to Jack, eyes still fixed on the television blaring. Perfect. 

Jack gives the movie another minute or so, actually watching it to scan for a good buildup to an intense scene. Then he takes that opportunity to begin feeding, the effect on Rhys at his side almost immediate as he starts reacting to the smallest of things flickering across the screen. He’s no longer eating popcorn, he hasn’t reached for his drink in a long while. He was tense, engrossed.

On the television screen, the killer is stalking his prey. What a coincidence, Jack muses, still greedily absorbing every bit of stress that the younger man at his side emitted. A quiet noise catches his attention, and glancing down he realizes Rhys’s hands are clenched so tightly against the popcorn bowl, the plastic was squeaking under his blunt nails.

“Ah, ah,” Jack tuts, taking the bowl away from his roommate, pulling away from the couch so he can set it out of reach for the time being. “You need to relax.” Settling back into place at Rhys’s side, he boldly takes one of his now free hands in both of his, admiring momentarily the difference in their sizes.

The quiet, perhaps nervous noise Rhys makes in response isn’t lost on Jack, but he doesn’t react to it beyond lightly massaging the hand he’s still holding. “You’re too tense, it’s just a movie. C’mon, lemme help you unwind...” Turning inwards slightly, Jack rests his left hand on Rhys’s leg, mindful not to set it too far up his thigh. Not yet anyway. He gives the leg a gentle squeeze, leaning in close to whisper, “Take some deep breaths. Pay attention to me.”

Watching Rhys’s chest inflate in immediate response is satisfying, a smile curving across Jack’s face. He leans in closer until he’s all but resting his head against his roommate. Another few slow, deep breaths, pheromones clearly starting to have an effect on him as well, and Rhys is visibly relaxing. He’s still focused on the television though.

“Kiddo, what did I say?” Jack moves the hand from Rhys’s leg to the underside of his chin, guiding the younger man to turn his head and look at him. Jack’s sure to widen his smile, rubbing a curled finger against his cheek before returning it to his thigh once more. “See, Rhysie? No need to be scared.”

Rhys glances off to the side momentarily, clearing his throat quietly. “Jack, I-I, uh…” The angovo squeezes his thigh again, hand twisting inward as his palm rubs against the fabric of his flannel pants. It seems to have knocked away whatever Rhys had been about to say because instead, he closes his eyes and parts his legs slightly.

Good boy.

Continuing to move his hand further up Rhys’s leg, Jack leans back enough to hide the wickedly smug expression on his face. This was almost too easy, luring his roommate into this state. At this rate, he wouldn’t have to fuck one of his toys tonight. Working off the excess energy pooling in his gut from his selfish overfeeding with his ball-of-stress of a roommate would be far more enjoyable. He adjusts his hand until it’s pressing against the front of Rhys’s pants, the heel of his palm applying enough pressure to drag out a hitched gasp. Not that it was difficult to feel anything through the material conforming to his body.

A sudden loud noise coming from the television has Rhys jump, his attention set back on the screen once more. Jack frowns, rubbing harder until he turns back around, slouching against the couch as if he was going to melt into the cushions. Offering up a softer smile, Jack nods approvingly. “That’s it, kitten. I’m keeping you safe, yeah? No need to worry about anything.”

Holding Rhys’s attention like that only lasts another minute or two, then another scream comes from the screen, and Jack’s irritation spikes. He wasn’t going to compete for his roommate’s focus with some B-list horror movie. The tension growing in his jeans was getting too demanding for this kind of slow-paced nonsense. 

“Listen, pumpkin...” 

Nothing would follow the apparent start to a sentence though; for once Jack was short on words. Pulling his hand away, he sighs heavily as he smoothly slips onto Rhys’s lap. Broad thighs rest alongside Rhys’s more slender ones, hands rather quickly settling onto his shoulders. There’s a confidence to his actions that are only dampened slightly by the fact that in blocking the television, his smug expression was almost certainly lost in the sudden darkness.

There’s nothing disappointing about Rhys’s reaction though. Clearly pushing his back further into the couch, neck tilting back as he seemingly tries to take in the sight on his lap now. A hesitation is visible on his face that has Jack wondering if the kid had forgotten to breathe temporarily. When he finally scrapes together the willpower to speak, he’s barely heard over the clamor of the tv. “Jack… I don’t-”

“You really need to just listen to me, Rhysie – what did I say?” Having a wide hand curling around Rhys’s chin, Jack holds his attention even if he’s barely able to make eye contact in the now limited lighting. Leaning in close enough to feel his own hot breath mirror off Rhys’s face, he’s not subtle in commanding, “Pay attention  _ to me _ .”

Moving a hand back between Rhys’s legs, Jack’s more than a little pleased to meet the hardening shape of a curved cock. These pants truly weren’t doing his roommate any favors in hiding his growing arousal, nor did the way his breath was coming out in shorter, shallower bursts.    
  
Jack might’ve felt more on par with the kid but he wasn’t foolish enough to relax onto the couch with his still-new roommate in anything less than jeans. Perhaps that bizarre brand of mistrust came from knowing himself all too well though; granted, most roommates weren’t physically climbing onto one another’s laps…

Either way, Rhys’s naiveté was playing to Jack’s advantage all too easily. The heel of his hand once again rubbing at his crotch, Jack brings a hand to the back of the younger man’s head, fingers tangling in short dark hairs. It’d take nothing at all for his hand to slip under the folds of the loose fabric, digits wrapping expertly around what they found hidden inside. But...not yet.

Jack’s vaguely aware of the sounds coming from behind him, more strongly in tune with how said noises were still affecting Rhys. The jumpscares and screams still had him jolting in his seat despite the newfound distraction of a hand rubbing at his erection. It provokes a bit of jealousy in Jack again, but only momentarily. After all, the more worked up Rhys got over the horror film playing… the more pronounced the waves of stress would be wafting off of him for Jack to enjoy.

“Ever fuck around with a guy your dad’s age?” Jack teases, knowing full well that the topic is sensitive to his younger roommate. “...doesn’t seem to be bothering you much, huh?” With a firm squeeze, Jack admires the hard outline of Rhys’s cock in his grasp now, taking a prolonged moment to run along the clothed length with enough pressure at his fingertips to draw a muffled moan out of his roommate. He doesn’t let up on the steady contact until he finally hears a stifling whimper.

The poor kid, honestly.

Jack can feel the drumming of Rhys’s heart from their closeness. He must be conflicted, torn between excitement, anxiety, and hesitancy at fooling around with his roommate. It was apparent the most pressing matters were the previous two though, his elevated pulse and progressive widening of his legs making it all too obvious. 

The pestering question for Jack was: how far could he get this guy to go without absolutely destroying their living arrangements? Because the longer this drags out, the more he wants to just flip Rhys over and drive him into the couch. Fetch a bottle of lube from his bedroom, pull those annoyingly casual pants down enough to get at what Jack wanted. Fleetingly, he wonders if he could have Rhys screaming louder than those coming from the movie.

Ah – fuck it.

Sitting back on Rhys's lap, Jack tugs at the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. The article drops to the floor, and that's all the time he allows for his roommate to stare at his now bare chest. He's more than aware that the angry scar etched into his sternum always received more attention he'd ever wish for, the upside-down letter ‘V’ constantly piquing the curiosity of his sexual partners.

"Up here, cupcake," he growls, forcing Rhys into eye contact. He's scared. Jack takes one of his hands and brings it to his hip, firmly pushing Rhys's fingers into his own flesh. An attempt to encourage him to  _ do something  _ with it. "My hand was just touching your dick, kiddo. If you’re timid about  _ this,  _ you’re gonna short-circuit over what I have planned next."

The quiet sounds of buttons being undone and a zipper being lowered is enough for Rhys to begin stammering, much to Jack’s dismay. “I-I feel- weird, Jack, we shouldn’t- shouldn’t be-...”

The temptation to plant a palm over the kid’s lips was strong, even if the voiced hesitation was attractive in its own right. Jack opts for leaning in to press his forehead against Rhys’s though, swiftly getting the younger man to lose his train of thought. The stress coming out of him was almost tangible, sending tiny jolts through Jack’s limbs. A wave of arousal dancing down his spine as he feels restrained breaths hitting his face, he wastes no time in sending a hand into the folds of Rhys’s pants finally.

Fingers curl around the hardened length of his cock with ease, Jack unable to resist letting out a quiet hum in satisfaction. He maneuvers the fabric until its free of the irritating confines and he’s able to give it a few slow, teasing strokes. His lips curl into a smile once more when the pad of his thumb brushes over a bead of precum already developing at the tip.

Rolling his shoulders back, Jack leans away from Rhys, watching as he opens his eyes, his face contorted ever so slightly as if… ah– was the kid expecting a kiss or something? 

Acting as though he hadn’t noticed a damn thing, Jack continues to run his hand up and down the length of Rhys’s cock, using his free hand to reach into his own pants. If he waited around for his roommate to take some initiative they’d be sitting here all night. So in pulling his own erection out, Jack gives a teasing squeeze to Rhys’s, nodding his head down as if to try and coax some autonomy out of the human. 

There’s still a heavy hand of hesitation in Rhys’s actions, too much for Jack to get the fullest level of pleasure out of this exchange. Perhaps he was  _ too _ on edge. As lithe fingers start to gingerly wrap around Jack’s shaft, he throws the kid a bone, releasing more pheromones to hopefully loosen him up. Continues pleasing the erect cock cradled in his grasp, and leans in for a kiss.

It’s not the smoothest, but Jack’s contented with how Rhys’s lips move against his after a moment. Even more satisfying is the tightening grip around his cock, more confidence in the younger man’s actions coming out as he starts to move at nearly the same rhythm.

“No need to be afraid, yeah?” Jack murmurs against Rhys’s lips, stepping up the fervency in his touches. Broad, purposeful strokes as the human beneath him start to pant. "You'll only ever feel good with me, kid, don't worry." He doesn't pull away until he notices an almost eager nodding coming from his partner.

Settling back onto Rhys's lap, his tongue flashes along the upper row of his teeth, tracing over the slightly enlarged cuspids. Maybe as an angovo, he didn't need such elongated teeth to pierce flesh, but he had been gifted with canines longer than a human. And he relished in that, feeling ever the cunning predator he was. 

Such as moments like this – Rhys trapped underneath him and servicing his cock with renewed excitement, all while Jack feasted on the abundance of stress flowing out of the man. The purposeful acknowledgment has him aching, a feeling akin to triumph puffing up in his chest. From below, Rhys lets out a quiet moan, hips jerking up involuntarily in response to Jack's tightened grasp.

He feels like a goddamn king.

The previously strained atmosphere of the room has melted into something more sensual, Rhys clearly long forgotten the horror film still going on in the background. Jack toys with the idea of easing up on his pheromones, allow his roommate a flickering distraction that's sure to dig up that delicious tension. But dropping his gaze to the hand steadily pumping over his erection, the tip glistening with smeared precum… Jack moans instead, lifting his hips in a vague attempt to thrust into the hand.

He needs a release. If not two or three, all ideally at the hands of  _ whatever _ he could possibly lure Rhys into doing for him. This… this was a good start, but Jack knows it'll be a tease if this is all he gets. There's no way he wouldn't be slipping into the younger man's room in the early hours to work off more pent up energy. 

"C'mon, Rhysie," Jack forces out, bracing his thumb along the shaft of Rhys's cock momentarily as he again bucks his hips. There's a strong urge to grind against the kid's clothed chest – surely such a soft t-shirt would feel perfect rubbing at the underside of his dick. A little friction could be nice after all, Jack would never say no to a bit of pain on his way to an orgasm.

Rhys is breathing heavily, head tilting to the side as his strokes become progressively uneven, syncopated. It's adorable, Jack feels, not entirely frustrated with the lack of consistency. He reaches to guide Rhys's head forward though, making eye contact as he drags his hand up and down at what pace seemed to draw out the best reactions.

"That's it, pumpkin," Jack purrs, smiling through his own labored breath while he inches himself closer to Rhys's torso. Knocking away his roommate's hand, he replaces it with his own, broad and long fingers wrapping around both of their cocks at once. "...make a mess for me."

A quiet groan accompanies the refreshed reddening in Rhys's cheeks, but he's nodding mindlessly, eyes squeezed shut as his panting grows stronger. Fervent, desperate jerks to his hips as his erection twitches alongside Jack's, more than enough encouragement for Jack to climax. He bites his tongue but allows his own eyes to shut now, managing to stave off his release. Even if he wanted so badly to be greedy and get off right then. 

It's worth the wait. 

Rhys's breath comes to a complete halt as he comes – just for a split-second, and then he's gasping loudly through his orgasm. Chest rising and falling in strong swells, he turns his head away. And it's an attractive sight to watch the younger man spilling cum on his hand, Jack focusing on his own cock for a moment longer until he too is groaning through a well-earned climax. He tilts his head back as the waves of pleasure flooded over him, no shameful thoughts telling him to stop making such a scene on his more submissive roommate's lap.

He  _ is _ a king, Jack decides as he settles down. Rhys is staring at him again, surprisingly not looking embarrassed or uncomfortable with the situation yet. He seems relaxed, head resting against the back of the couch while his breathing slowed to a more normal pace. Pheromones were probably keeping him from getting flighty, Jack suspects.

He tucks his softening dick away, even going as far as to assist Rhys is putting himself back together as well. Haphazardly, anyway, not exactly cleaning up the mess still splattered between their bodies. Jack arches his back in a relaxed, lazy stretching motion, licking sticky cum from his fingers without shame, an action unabashed enough to have Rhys finally squirming underneath him.

"Want a taste, cupcake?" Jack teases, leaning close enough to press his lips to the human's before he's barely finished the question. The reciprocated kiss only amplifies his smugness, however, and he releases a hushed, satisfied moan before pulling back slightly. "Clean up, back here in five. We'll find something else to watch."

≡

It wasn’t right to inflict nightmares onto his roommate. Jack was more than aware of that fact as he had slipped into the small, dark bedroom well after Rhys had fallen asleep. But the engagement on the couch earlier in the evening had left desires itching at the angovo’s entire body and he couldn’t imagine going to sleep himself without indulging.

He shouldn’t touch the bed, he’d have no way to explain himself if Rhys were to wake up  _ again _ to find him in his bed. Of course, though, Jack goes against his own warnings and slips onto the covers, pleased to find the younger man left him room enough to get comfortable. On his knees, a hand slipped into the gap of his boxers in order to pull out the already hardened cock begging for attention. 

Rhys had been sleeping peacefully. ‘Had’ being the keyword, as Jack began tugging at the lingering stress his body always seemed to harbor. The more he withdrew from the human, the more his dreams would turn sour. As long as the angovo kept that hold over him, he’d be at his mercy. It wasn’t the first time Jack had used this tactic.

Watching Rhys start to fidget in his sleep, the corners of his mouth twitching and forehead creasing as Jack began stroking himself… Yeah, Jack enjoyed this. The delicious energy transferring to him was truly becoming his drug of choice. 

He could easily grow addicted to the way Rhys suffered.

Jack’s breath is coming out too harshly for his liking, too risky in giving away his presence. So he bites his lip, needing to avert his eyes from watching his roommate twist in his sleep in order to contain himself a little better. Haste was necessary, but with a degree of care nonetheless. There was no denying the level of excitement alone from stroking his cock beside the unconscious Rhys.

Staring down, he’s barely able to make out the shape of his own erection in his grasp, the faintest light coming in through the dark curtains not enough to fulfill that vain desire. The heat his body was giving off though, chest pounding, sweat at the back of his neck from pure adrenaline. Jack almost wants to get caught; the heavy arousal guiding his mind towards irrational thoughts rather than those laced with self-preservation.

If Rhys just woke up, maybe Jack could lure him into joining him for something more than their little session on the couch.

The underside of his hand brushes against his cock too perfectly at exactly the right moment, and Jack moans. Immediately he freezes, eyes wide in alarm as he stares down at his roommate. But Rhys is still asleep, and with a silent exhalation, Jack continues. This was getting too precarious to draw out any longer.

Leaning back, Jack winces at the tingling in his legs but forces himself to push past it. Focus. Tightening the hold around his erection, he centers his attention on the stress coming from Rhys. Every bit of that energy sending him up a wall – he wanted to do far more than touch himself right now. Jack repeats it over and over in his head that the first time he fucks this kid he’s going to absolutely ruin him. After all this teasing, it’d be unavoidable.

Blood is drawn with how hard Jack bites down on his lower lip, fingers tightening and teasing his cock in all the right ways to bring him to climax. It’s not entirely satisfying trying to suppress his moans and contain the cum now spurting out. But it’s enough for now, knowing he wasn’t caught at least. It’d have to be enough.

Carefully, Jack slides to the edge of the bed, taking even greater care in bringing himself to his feet. Legs a little wobbly, his heart still threatening to leave his chest, he admires the sleeping Rhys a moment longer. Eases up on the influence he was forcing into the poor kid’s dreams. 

Now that he got what he came for, Jack didn’t mind if Rhys got a decent night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Been staying with my fiance, so less time to focus on writing. Hope y'all enjoyed Jack finally getting his nasty on...twice.


End file.
